


I Care That It Hurts You

by syriala



Series: Stalion Week 2018 [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Kinda, M/M, because Stiles didn't know about Deucalion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 10:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15022718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syriala/pseuds/syriala
Summary: When Stiles came into the café he wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t Deuc, sitting at their usual table, seemingly waiting for him like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't lied to Stiles since the very first meeting.Rage bubbled up in Stiles, unbidden and strong, and he preferred it over the stab of hurt that came along with it.





	I Care That It Hurts You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavenderlotion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/gifts).



> This is my last fic for Stalion Appreciation Week, it's for Day 7 and it was a Free Day, so have this.
> 
> Shout out to Lavender who got this week going! <3

When Stiles came into the café he wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t Deuc, sitting at their usual table, seemingly waiting for him.

Rage bubbled up in Stiles, unbidden and strong, and he preferred it over the stab of hurt that came along with it, so he nourished it as he stormed over to Deucalion.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed, and Deucalion looked up at him.

When Stiles was met with his blue eyes, blue, no longer white and unseeing, he stumbled back a bit.

“You can see,” he whispered, and Deucalion shrugged.

“A parting gift from Derek and Jennifer,” he casually said and there it was again, the rage.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked again, and Deucalion raised an eyebrow and looked around the café.

“You really want to do this here?” he wanted to know and just for that Stiles wanted to punch him in the face.

“Fine,” he pressed out and turned on his heels, walking right back out of the café.

Deucalion was following him, he was sure about that, and Stiles stormed down the street. He knew that one block over there was an empty warehouse and that was where he led Deucalion now.

As soon as they were inside Stiles spun around and flung the mountain ash he had been carrying towards Deucalion.

He was looking almost impassively at Stiles, and Stiles suddenly knew that Deucalion had known this would happen. He had probably smelled the ash on Stiles.

And there was the stab of hurt again, blooming up in his chest; Stiles didn’t know how to handle this, this trust Deucalion was showing him and so instead of dwelling on that he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Talk,” he spit out and Deucalion shrugged.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, and Stiles felt the urge to scream and tear his hair out.

“What do I want you to say?” he repeated, voice incredulous. “How about you explain _what the hell is going on_? You can start with how you thought using me would benefit you,” Stiles bitterly said, thinking back to all the hours they had spent together and choking back his feelings.

“I didn’t use you,” Deucalion softly told him. “I can’t say it never crossed my mind, but I didn’t. It wasn’t even my intention when we met. I didn’t know who you were.”

“Yeah, right,” Stiles mumbled.

“Stiles, you came to me,” Deucalion reminded him, like Stiles could ever really forget how they had met for the first time.

They had been in a bookshop, and Stiles had only seen someone hold his favourite book, and he hadn’t been able to do anything but go over and rant at the man about all the things he loved about the book, before he pointed out that there were several others by now in the series.

It was only when Deucalion had turned his head that Stiles had realized he was blind.

It might have been the most humiliating moment in Stiles’ life, but Deucalion had been good-natured about it, and they had started talking about books, and then about anything and suddenly they were having dinner together.

It spiraled from there and by the fifth meeting, Stiles refused to call them dates now, he was already madly in love with the other man.

He had wondered why Deucalion had never made a move, but at least Stiles didn’t have to wonder about that anymore. It was clear as day now why Deucalion had kept Stiles close but never allowed anything more.

“And you didn’t use me? Is that what you want to tell me?” Stiles asked, and he saw red when Deucalion nodded.

“How fucking dare you!” he yelled. “You tried to kill my friends. You ordered Kali and the twins to kill Boyd. You killed Erica! You and your goddamn pack made my life hell these past few weeks and you have the audacity to stand here and pretend like it wasn’t all calculated?”

He was breathing harshly at the end, biting back tears, because it just hurt so much, knowing that nothing from Deucalion had been real. None of the endearments, the easy, casual touches and most of all not the feelings Stiles had thought he saw reflected in the other man.

“Darling,” Deucalion started but Stiles immediately interrupted him.

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered, pleaded almost, because it was just too much.

Deucalion briefly pressed his lips together before he nodded once.

“Fair enough, I suppose. But I didn’t use you. Yes, I did all these other things, but I didn’t use you. I tried my hardest to keep you out of everything, keep you away from the fight,” Deucalion explained, and Stiles couldn’t help but think back to all the times Deucalion had stood him up.

He had been angry about those, but when he inevitably got the call that something had happened, and he needed to rush to Derek and Scott, he had always been glad that Deucalion had been a no show at those times.

“You specifically set up the meetings when something was going down?” he asked, and it almost made sense in his mind.

Almost.

“Yes. I never wanted to see you hurt, Stiles. When we met that first time, I truly didn’t know who you were then. It took meeting Scott to place the scent of pack on you, and by then I was already enamored.”

Stiles snorted at that, because that was some bullshit if he ever heard it.

“It’s true,” Deucalion told him, and he looked so earnest.

Stiles _wanted_ to believe him, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t fall for Deucalion’s farce again.

“So then what, huh? You kept seeing me to get your information? Is that what happened? I was just a convenient, unknowing mole for you?” he bitterly asked, and he hated himself, just a bit, for how much this betrayal _hurt_.

“No, Stiles. I deliberately never asked about your friends, or any plans you had with them, and you know it.”

The thing was, Stiles did know that.

Ever since he had seen Deucalion on the roof with Scott he had replayed their meetings again and again, tried to remember every detail, to figure out where he had finally fucked up and gave the pack away; where he had given Deucalion some hint he could use to get the upper hand, but he hadn’t found anything.

Deucalion had been interested, but he had never asked after his friends, had never steered the conversation in a direction he could have used for a fight later, and it had left Stiles floundering.

He didn’t know what to make of that, and hearing it now from Deucalion, that it had been intentional, was simply too confusing.

“I just don’t understand,” Stiles finally admitted. “None of it. You killed your pack, for gods sake. You killed the people you should have protected, and it makes no sense,” he shouted.

“I regret that,” Deucalion said and rubbed his chin while Stiles mumbled “Yeah, sure,” under his breath.

“I truly do, and there’s no excuse for that, but let me at least explain,” Deucalion asked of him and Stiles hated himself and his inability to tell Deucalion no.

“Whatever,” he said and crossed his arms in front of his chest, waiting for Deucalion to spew some bullshit.

“When I lost my sight, the wolf was unstable,” Deucalion started. “We suddenly lost one of our senses and due to the wolfsbane embedded we couldn’t heal. The pain alone was too much in the beginning. Talia had nothing better to do than tell me ‘I told you so’ when Deaton told me that my eyes would never heal. And then Marco came in. He was my second, my trusted right hand, and he should have been supporting, should have helped me heal. Instead he decided that now was the time to kill me to get the alpha power.”

Stiles couldn’t help but listen closely to this, because the story he had been told had been lacking a lot of these details.

“I killed him in self-defense,” Deucalion admitted. “The broken pack bond was almost too much, with the knowledge that I had caused it, and my wolf went a little bit crazier but then suddenly there was this rush of power. I hadn’t known that killing your betas would add their power to your own, but that was what was happening. And the wolf, all it could feel was the _power_. And power meant healing.”

“So you killed your pack because you thought it would speed up the healing process enough to get your sight back,” Stiles finished the story and if what Deucalion said was true it even made sense.

“Yes. The wolf is a simple creature and I was too preoccupied by the pain to give this any deeper thought. Instincts can be hard to override sometimes,” Deucalion admitted, and he did sound sorry.

“And then you just kept killing people.”

“No,” Deucalion said. “I kept gathering people with power, in the misguided belief that if there were enough powerful people together, nothing could hurt us anymore. I haven’t killed anyone with my own hands until Ennis.”

“You killed him,” Stiles whispered. “You let Kali believe it was Derek!” he then burst out and Deucalion shrugged apologetically.

“It was convenient to my plan,” he said, obviously unwilling to lie to Stiles who tore at his hair.

“You did all this, and look at where you’re at now,” Stiles mockingly said. “You have nothing,” he hissed and something like regret crossed over Deucalion’s face.

And Stiles felt sick, sick with the knowledge that Deucalion had hoped he still had him, that they could still be something, because Stiles wanted it too and it felt like the worst betrayal.

“My dad is in the hospital,” Stiles said and didn’t even know why he told Deucalion that.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said and something in Stiles snapped.

“You don’t get to call me that,” he screamed and rushed forward, right into the circle and he beat his fist against Deucalion’s chest.

“You don’t get to call me anything! You got my dad hurt, and Derek, you got my friends killed and you don’t even care,” Stiles yelled, all his anger and pain coming out.

Distantly he knew that Deucalion was allowing this, that there was no way Stiles would get a hit in if Deucalion didn’t want him to and it only made him hit harder for a few moments. He wanted this to hurt Deucalion just as much as it was hurting him.

“I’m sorry,” Deucalion whispered when Stiles’ hits slowed down, and Stiles slumped against his chest, tears streaming freely over his cheeks now.

“And I care that it hurts you,” Deucalion murmured into his hair, putting his arms around Stiles and holding him while he shook apart.

“I need you to know that nothing with you was a farce,” Deucalion said, and he sounded urgent, like he needed Stiles to believe him. “I was as honest with you as I could, because I fell in love with you the second you started ranting to me about that book,” Deucalion told him, and Stiles cried even harder.

It was not fair, not fair at all of Deucalion to say this now, when everything was already in shatters and Stiles pushed away from him, desperate to get away.

“Scott and Derek gave me a second chance,” Deucalion said, and Stiles quickly looked away when he saw the tear tracks on Deucalion’s face. “I will stay here one week. If you can somehow overlook what I did, get past this, or just leave it behind, then I would be more than happy if you come find me. After those seven days, I’m leaving,” Deucalion told him and there was a finality to his words that told Stiles Deucalion already knew how this would end.

Stiles only wished he could say the same.

He shakily nodded while he dragged his sleeve over his eyes and when he stepped further back he deliberately broke the mountain ash circle.

“Don’t hold your breath,” he said, putting as much disdain into his voice as he could, before he walked away without looking back.

~*~*~

It took Stiles barely two days to decide that he was still in love with Deucalion, despite what he did and what had happened. He needed another three to come to terms with that and what it said about him as a person.

On the sixth day he knocked at Deucalion’s door.

Deucalion took longer than Stiles expected to open the door and when he did, he seemed guarded.

Stiles could see past him into the apartment, and there were boxes everywhere.

“You’re leaving,” he whispered and there it was again, that hurt Stiles had hoped to never feel again.

Of course Deucalion would be leaving.

“To be honest, I didn’t expect you to come back to me,” Deucalion honestly said.

“I didn’t either,” Stiles muttered and then squared his shoulders. “But I did, because I’m in love with you and I want us to at least try,” he declared, and he could see how Deucalion’s face smoothed out at these words.

“I want us to try too, darling boy,” Deucalion said, and he reached out and cupped Stiles’ cheek. “I didn’t dare to hope,” he whispered as Stiles leaned into the contact. “What took you so long?”

“I had to come to terms with the fact that I still felt the same,” Stiles admitted, and Deucalion smiled softly at him.

“I’m glad you do,” he said and then pulled Stiles into a kiss.

Stiles fell into it, pressing as close to Deucalion as he could get and when they parted he didn’t move away. He wanted to stay close for as long as he could.

“Stay?” he asked, eying the boxes again, but Deucalion nodded so fast, he didn’t even get to the worrying stage.

“Of course, love. As long as you want me here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Stiles squeezed him hard at that, aware that there were still some obstacles ahead of them, but willing to brace them all if only they were together.

Going by the way Deucalion nuzzled his hair, Stiles didn’t have to worry about Deucalion leaving him alone any time soon.


End file.
